


And Yet There He Was

by Springsie



Series: He'll Get There... Eventually [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Biting, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Rough Kissing, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, also jaskier is a brat in bed, and no one can convince me otherwise, because it shuts jaskier up, because she is the goodest girl, geralt also really likes kissing, geralt is a big softie, roach is briefly mentioned, there will be a part two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springsie/pseuds/Springsie
Summary: After a long, uncomfortable silence, the musician muttered, "She really was the best I've ever had." He simply had to have the last word."Tell me, dear bard," Geralt said, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, "between me and this exquisite woman, this perfect creature you claim to have bedded, who do you suppose is better?"At least he'd managed to sound somewhat mocking.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: He'll Get There... Eventually [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626955
Comments: 39
Kudos: 883





	And Yet There He Was

**Author's Note:**

> As my first fic for this fandom and also the first one I've written in years, it got a bit away from me. I've seen the show and recent started reading the books, so Geralt and Jaskier are a bit of a blend from both, but mostly the show tbh. Geralt thinks Jaskier is really pretty and is very soft, send help.

The fire lit the small campsite warmly, throwing deep shadows against the surrounding trees. Geralt sat on Roach’s saddle blanket--which he and Jaskier used under their bedrolls to soften the ground some--and listened in mild amusement as Jaskier lamented a beautiful woman he had once bedded. While he listened, Geralt rotated the plump rabbit he had on a spit over the flames, fat sizzling as it dripped off the roasting meat. It would be ready soon and he knew that would please his bard companion, who had begun to complain of hunger before Geralt was willing to even consider setting up camp for the night. 

He let out a soft grunt when Jaskier’s hand landed with a firm thump on his shoulder. 

“Geralt, are you even listening to me?” Jaskier asked, sounding more exasperated than he had a right to be. “I am literally telling you about the most exquisite and passionate love making I have ever experienced in my life, and you’re more interested in that rabbit!”

Geralt scoffed and gave his eyes a near imperceptible roll, fighting back a grin when Jaskier floundered over his words and puffed out his chest in indignation. 

“I’m not being hyperbolic, Geralt!” he insisted, giving Geralt's shoulder a light shove before he brought his hand to his face with a dreamy expression. "Everything about her was sublime, from her hair the color of corn silk and her lips as soft as the most delicate flower petals, to her perfect and ample bosom and silky skin." 

Lifting an eyebrow, Geralt shifted where he sat and leaned back against the saddlebags behind them, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Then tell me, dear bard," he said, letting his amusement leak into his voice as he regarded Jaskier, "what was this perfect and sublime woman's name?"

His amusement only grew when Jaskier pursed his lips into a thin line and his brow furrowed in thought. Finally he answered, waving a hand dismissively. "I don't recall catching her name. But what does it matter when she was the most exquisite creature I've ever come across during my extensive travels?"

"Hmm," was all Geralt responded, not bothering to hide his skeptical smile.

"I don't take kindly to your doubt, witcher," Jaskier pouted, and then he went on to describe the shape of her body, the curve of her spine, how long her legs were, each description becoming increasingly elaborate and poetic.

It wasn’t long after that the rabbit was finally finished roasting and Geralt pulled the dagger from his boot to cut off a hind leg at the hip joint, handing it to Jaskier. As he'd hoped, the bard's hunger outweighed his desire to continue with the very detailed recounting of his escapades, and Geralt was blessed with silence. For several minutes, the only things that could be heard were the fire crackling merrily, the two men eating, and Roach every now and then as she shifted her weight. It was a peaceful reprieve.

And it was only natural that it was temporary.

"As I was saying, Geralt," Jaskier said once he'd had his fill, leaning back against the saddlebag as well so that their shoulders brushed. "I had her sprawled out and--"

Geralt's hand was covering Jaskier's mouth before he could continue any further. "Jaskier, for the love of all that is still good on this damnable Continent," he growled out, his patience wearing thin, "please. Shut. Up." He punctuated each word by giving the other man's jaw a light squeeze. And in the process, he had come well into Jaskier's space, their noses nearly brushing, and in the warm fire light, Geralt could see the way his blue eyes went wide, his pupils dilating (though, whether from a shock of fear or from excitement, Geralt didn't know, didn't catch a whiff of whatever emotion it was), and he could feel the way his pulse quickened beneath his fingers.

When he released Jaskier a moment later, he couldn't help feeling just a touch satisfied with the way he fidgeted, momentarily at a loss for words in his flustered state. But then he cleared his throat, and Geralt tipped his head back with an exasperated huff.

"That was…" Jaskier cleared his throat once again and made a show of straightening out his fine--though slightly travel-worn--troubadour's outfit. "That was quite uncalled for, Geralt. A simple 'please' would have sufficed." Never mind the fact that Geralt had, indeed, said please.

"Hmm," was all Geralt responded, eyeing Jaskier for a moment before he shifted his weight slightly, the horse blanket doing little to soften the ground, and their shoulders brushed.

This close, sitting shoulder to shoulder, he could hear the way Jaskier's breathing had sped up in an almost inaudible hitch of the throat. And if Geralt strained his ears, he thought he could just hear the thumping of his heart against his ribcage. He could smell the sweat on Jaskier’s skin, the dirt from their travels, and under it, he could smell the juniper oil he used in his hair, as well as something that was distinctly...Jaskier; something warm like the buttercups he was named for.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Geralt made himself more comfortable against the saddlebag, and he watched the way the flames of their campfire danced. Jaskier was uncharacteristically quiet beside him, though he fidgeted with his clothes. When he flicked his amber eyes over, Geralt saw him twirling a loose thread from the cuff of his sleeve around his finger. There was a somewhat pensive expression on his face, like he desperately wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words into his mouth. So he just continued fidgeting until it grated Geralt's nerves and his hand snapped out to cover Jaskier's, giving a pointed squeeze.

"Stop."

He froze, and when Geralt released his hands, Jaskier crossed his arms and pouted. There was no other way to describe it. He deliberately looked the other way and pouted. With a soft snort, Geralt reached out and took hold of Jaskier's chin gently, turning his head back until their eyes met. His thumb slid along his jaw and he felt a light stubble; it had been two days since they'd left the last town, since either of them had bothered to shave. A faint shiver went through Jaskier at the touch and there was that quiet hitch in his breathing again, an attractive flush to his cheeks.

Geralt wasn't blind, he knew how beautiful his companion was, knew why he had the reputation he did with women--and often with their husbands, though the latter was almost always cause for trouble. And if there was a grain of truth in his tales, then they were quite lucky to have had a lover as talented as Jaskier. But Geralt couldn't stop himself wondering if Jaskier himself had ever had a generous partner. It made his brows come together and he pressed his lips into a hard line.

What did he care if Jaskier had generous partners in the past? Why did the thought of it, of someone else making Jaskier sing the way he'd supposedly made so many ladies sing send a feral and possessive sort of feeling through Geralt? In fact, why had watching Jaskier flirt with other men always sent that feeling through him, while the same could not be said when he flirted with women? These were all things Geralt tried not to think about.

So instead of thinking about them, he dropped his hand and turned his eyes back to the fire. He tried to think of anything but the way Jaskier smelled, or the blush that had crept across his cheeks, or how he sounded in another lover's bed. Geralt gritted his teeth and his nostrils flared with annoyance. Beside him, Jaskier had returned to pouting.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, he muttered, "She really was the best I've ever had." He simply had to have the last word.

"Tell me, dear bard," Geralt said, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, "between me and this exquisite woman, this perfect creature you claim to have bedded, who do you suppose is better?"

At least he'd managed to sound somewhat mocking. Geralt waited for a response anyway, watching Jaskier intently from the corner of his eye, trying to read his expression. He half expected Jaskier to burst into laughter or brush him off, but instead his ears turned pink and he swallowed hard.

"O-oh… My goodness, Geralt. I've never known you to be quite so forward." Jaskier paused and reconsidered his words for a moment. "Actually, that's not really true, is it? You're always forward. You're a very forward and to the point person, and that's something I appre--"

"Fuck's sake, Jaskier!" Geralt interrupted. "Do you ever shut up?" And he was suddenly crowding Jaskier against the saddlebag he was leaned back against, a large hand curling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

It was reckless and impulsive, but Geralt stayed close like that for several seconds, letting the air between them grow thick and humid as he listened to Jaskier's breathing catch and watched the way his blue eyes widened and his pupils dilated. Definitely from excitement. And then he closed the small space between them and caught Jaskier's lips in an achingly gentle kiss. It was chaste, just a press of their mouths, but an entirely enjoyable experience all the same.

Though, he began to feel a pinprick of doubt when Jaskier didn't respond, just sat there, stiff and holding his breath. But when Geralt began to pull away, lips already parting around an apology and fingers slipping from his hair, there was suddenly a pair of surprisingly strong hands gripping the front of his shirt, keeping him from pulling back any farther. Jaskier chased after him with his own kiss, again just a press of their mouths, and when they parted a long heartbeat later, his cheeks and ears were pink and his blue eyes were wide and sparkling with something akin to wonder.

"That was, um…" Jaskier cleared his throat, and Geralt noticed the way his gaze flicked down to his mouth and back up again. "That was very nice."

"Oh, it was just nice?" Geralt rumbled, the hand at the back of Jaskier's neck sliding into his soft hair, thumb rubbing small circles behind his ear--an unconscious show of affection. "I suppose I'm going to have to do better in order to surpass _her._ " 

Geralt regarded Jaskier for a moment, examined his expression, made sure this was what he wanted. And all he could find was open want on his face, in the way his pupils were wide, ringed with thin slivers of blue, and the way his lips parted in anticipation, the way his eyes dropped to Geralt's mouth. So once again, he crowded Jaskier against the saddlebag and kissed him.

Even with their travels, Jaskier's lips were somehow petal soft and Geralt caved in to the desire to nip, catching the bottom one carefully and dragging his teeth over it before he kissed away any sting it may have caused. He was rewarded with a soft whimper and string-calloused fingers tightening in the black linen of his shirt. It made Geralt wonder what other noises Jaskier would make and imagining it had a shiver running up his spine.

Before he let the kiss go any further, Geralt pulled back, earning a disappointed whine. The complaint was cut off, however, when he easily maneuvered Jaskier so that he was straddling his lap. Their eyes met, Geralt's gaze intense as he examined Jaskier's expression. And quite frankly, he looked positively giddy. A grin, somewhat lopsided, was spreading across the his face and his eyes sparkled, even in the low backlighting of the fire.

"Is this alright?" Geralt asked, hands coming to rest on Jaskier's slender hips. Despite the fact that he knew what the answer would be, he still felt the need for confirmation, for Jaskier's unquestionable consent.

The laugh that peeled from Jaskier's throat was musical, and for just a beat Geralt was stunned by him, by the way his smile creased the corners of his eyes, by how beautiful he looked in the warm, flickering fire light. "My dear witcher, it's more than alright," Jaskier said, deft fingers working open the buttons of Geralt's shirt. "What say we find out for certain who the better fuck is, hmm? You or my exquisite lady?"

The crude words, so unlike his usual soliloquies and ballads, had a smirk flashing across Geralt's face. He tipped his head so that their lips brushed, and he felt Jaskier's fingers stall momentarily on their work. "All good things in time," he drawled, voice low; he could feel the shudder that went through Jaskier when he spoke, could smell the arousal begin to perfume his skin.

Geralt stayed like that for a long, long moment, the promise of a kiss between them as their lips brushed with each breath until the air was humid and Jaskier was practically vibrating with desire. It felt like hours, though only a few seconds had passed, before he caught Jaskier's lips in another kiss. It was heated and sloppy, and the taste of the bard on his tongue as he pressed past his lips was intoxicating; not even the faded flavor of their dinner could mask how sweet he was, and a low, appreciative hum rumbled from Geralt's chest. He kissed Jaskier like that, all tongue and teeth and hot breath, until Jaskier was squirming in his lap and gripping his shoulders tightly.

"Geralt," he gasped after a particularly sharp nip to his lower lip. "I need...I need to breathe."

Without thinking twice, Geralt dropped his head low and nosed along Jaskier's jaw, breathing him in. He smelled like salt and sunlight and the heady musk of arousal. A soft whimper left his throat when Geralt was bold enough to drag his tongue flat along his neck, to taste his skin, and it only encouraged him to bite down just under his ear and leave a mark that would surely darken by morning. The whimper turned into a proper moan, reedy and beautiful and everything Geralt hoped it would be.

Greedy for more, he pushed Jaskier's doublet from his shoulders, the high collar making it difficult for him to reach the skin he so desperately wanted his mouth on. A low, pleased hum vibrated through him when Jaskier more than willingly shrugged the jacket off, swearing and struggling when it caught on his wrists as he tried to free his hands. Geralt gave a soft snort of laughter and simply ducked his head to continue laying a thick path of kisses down Jaskier's throat. Some of them were just soft presses of his lips, others were harsh and bruising and left the shape of his mouth imprinted on pale skin. All of them had Jaskier quaking against Geralt, his hands still caught awkwardly in the sleeves of his doublet, moans and sighs and soft mewling sounds leaving him all the while.

"Fuck," Jaskier gasped, shuddering at the feeling of Geralt's sharp teeth scraping across his skin and catching on his collarbone. "You are far too good at this, witcher." Geralt took pride in the breathless sound of his voice and the way his body jolted against his own when he pulled his shirt loose from his trousers and large hands splayed over his back. 

Under the loose cotton of his shirt, under calloused palms, Jaskier's skin was soft. It felt delicate beneath Geralt's fingers, like if he gripped him just a little too hard, he would be bruised for days. And gods help him, Geralt wanted to leave those marks on Jaskier, on _his_ bard, wanted to claim him, make him remember this for a long time. With a soft sound, one that could almost be considered a whine, he pressed his face into Jaskier's neck and just listened to his racing heart and the way his breath stuttered when he slid his hands farther up the plain of his back.

"Geralt?" The sound of his name vibrated around him when Jaskier spoke, and Geralt lifted his head when he felt clever fingers in his hair. When had Jaskier freed his hands from his doublet sleeves? He was greeted by concerned blue eyes and a pinched brow. "If you don't want to--"

He didn't let Jaskier finish the sentence, cutting him off with a hand over his mouth. "I want to," Geralt assured him, voice thick with desire and eyes intense, only gold rings around wide, black pupils. 

Slowly, Geralt removed Jaskiers shirt, drinking in every inch of skin that was now exposed. They had seen one another in various stages of undress on innumerable occasions, but this was different, this was heavy and intimate, and all Geralt wanted to do was map out Jaskier's body with his hands and his mouth. And he would. He would take his time and pull Jaskier apart slowly until all he knew was pleasure, at least for a little while.

Eyes finally landing on his bard's face, Geralt sucked in a small, sharp breath through his nose. The way Jaskier was looking at him, lids heavy with lust, delicate mouth parted and looking entirely too tempting, sent heat through him. He was beautiful.

"I've never seen you at such a loss for words," Geralt mused after he had collected himself, reaching up to cup Jaskier's cheek and trace his thumb along his bottom lip.

"If it's that off putting, I'd be more than happy to write a ballad about this pivotal moment in our lives," Jaskier teased, nipping at Geralt's thumb with a mischievous look in his eyes. "Tell the entire word that the White Wolf is a gentle and generous lover." And he began to hum a tune, as if he already had such a ballad in mind.

Geralt glared at him, no real heat behind it. "Do that and I'll throttle you," he threatened, though the way his lips turned up ever so slightly at the corners betrayed him.

"Is that a promise?" Jaskier challenged with a wicked grin, and Geralt growled. The sound was predatory, but there was a playful edge to it.

"It is," Geralt rumbled, but his eyes softened as he looked at Jaskier, tracing his fine features with his ochre gaze. Under his scrutiny, Jaskier's cheeks flushed pleasantly, and Geralt brushed his thumb across his lips once more and then slid his hand into his soft brown hair.

"Pretty thing," he said absentmindedly, and Jaskier went positively scarlet. From embarrassment or simply because such soft words had come from a man like him, Geralt didn't know nor did he care. And to prevent Jaskier from running his pretty little mouth, Geralt pulled him into a slow, deep kiss.

The tactic worked wonders, Jaskier simply sighing into his mouth and melting against him, arms draping over his broad shoulders. As they kissed, Geralt felt sly hands slip down the back of his shirt in search of skin, and a shiver rolled through him as fingers traced old scars. His own hands, large enough to nearly cover the entirety of Jaskier's back, roamed freely. His companion had picked up a few scars of his own over the years they had traveled together and Geralt fingered over the smooth tissue. He remembered each event that marred Jaskier's otherwise perfect skin. He remembered how he had treated each wound, how Jaskier had whined about scars, and it made Geralt huff quietly, nipping his lip and then sucking on it lighty.

Soon, the slow, deep kiss wasn't enough. It became just short of desperate, and Gerat groaned when Jaskier's hand tangled in his hair and yanked it free of the leather thong that kept it from his face. He let Jaskier pull away and their eyes locked. Strong musician's hands framed his face, thumbing over a small scar on his cheek, and the witcher resisted the urge to lean into the touch. Geralt sat perfectly still while Jaskier examined him. He noted the way Jaskier's gaze frequently dropped to his mouth or landed on his yellow eyes. And soon, clever fingers were mapping his features, sliding along his stubbled jaw, over his brows and cheekbones, tracing his lips.

Geralt wasn't sure when he closed his eyes, but when Jaskier kissed him, he sucked in a small breath through his nose.

" _Out on the hunt, he’ll show no mercy  
To beasts of blood and claws  
But to his love, he does return  
O to his love he does return  
With gentle touch and sweet, sweet kiss,_" Jaskier sang hushedly against Geralt's mouth before giving his lip a playful bite, grinning.

Snorting, Geralt used his considerable strength against Jaskier. He suddenly had an iron grip on perfect, slender hips and easily pitched forward. Jaskier squawked in surprise and wrapped his arms tightly around Geralt's neck, one heel digging into his lower back while his other leg shot out instinctively, as if that would help him keep balanced. It all happened quickly, in a second or less, and Geralt loomed over Jaskier, a wolfish grin on his face.

"Those lyrics are shit," he all but growled before he dropped his head down to lave the side Jaskier's throat with positively salacious kisses. And then Geralt bit down on the meat that joined shoulder and neck, dragging a ragged moan from his bard.

“Better than anything you could write,” Jaskier retorted, though his voice was shaky. Geralt hummed in agreement as he gingerly kissed over the fresh bite.

Now that he was on his back, Jaskier appeared to be growing impatient. He arched his hips and tried to pull Geralt closer with the leg still wrapped around his waist. Demanding hands tugged on the black fabric of his shirt, shoving down the back of his collar to grope and clutch at every inch of skin he could reach.

“Geralt,” he finally whined, yanking again at the fabric. “You’re wearing far too much clothing, while I lie here half-naked.”

“And what a lovely sight you make,” Geralt rumbled. He dragged a hand slowly down Jaskier’s chest, through the hair there, listening to the way he whined in his throat when rough fingers caught a sensitive nipple. With a sharp grin, he leaned down and caught the other one gently between his teeth.

“By the gods!” Jaskier gasped loudly. A heavy shudder went through him and his back arched ever so slightly off the blanket. When Geralt dragged his tongue over the sensitive bud and gave a light stuckle, he felt a hand suddenly in his long hair, gripping and tugging hard, and Geralt groaned into Jaskier's skin.

Lifting his head, he looked down at Jaskier with eyes darkened by lust, his gaze dropping to his mouth when he bit his bottom lip. Somehow, though they had done little more than kiss, Jaskier looked thoroughly debauched, from the slight tossle to his chestnut hair to the bruises blooming on his neck and the incredibly obvious tent at the front of his trousers. It made Geralt swallow as his mouth watered at the image of his long-time travel companion naked and wanton beneath him. 

So with a small but predatory growl, Geralt devoured Jaskier’s plush, kiss-swollen lips with a heated kiss. Their teeth clicked together but neither seemed to mind, least of all Jaskier, if his noises were anything to go by; they were all breathless moans and desperate whimpers, and Geralt greedily swallowed each one down as he licked into his mouth and Jaskier’s tongue met his enthusiastically. He sucked on it shamelessly as he moved his hand down, over his bard's ribbes.

Geralt's fingers found the high waistband of Jaskier's trousers, and very slowly, he began to pop the buttons open, one at a time. So distracted by the kiss, Jaskier didn't realize what was happening until his fly was open and a large, hot hand was wrapped around his shaft. Geralt revelled in his reaction: the way his head fell back and he broke the kiss with a surprised moan; the way he dropped one hand down to grip the wool blanket under them and the other tangled in Geralt's long, silver hair; the way his hips jerked into Geralt's hand, searching for more.

"Sweet Melitele!" Jaskier swore, chest heaving as he panted.

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked up a Geralt, gaze glassy with lust. "Please tell me this isn't a dream, " he mumbled, "because if it is, I never want to wake up."

Geralt rolled his eyes good-naturedly before he began to jerk Jaskier slowly. He knew it would be better for him with some sort of lubrication, spit or the oil in one of the saddlebags. But for now, Geralt stayed just like that, hovering over Jaskier and watching the way his expression morphed with his pleasure, brow furrowed, mouth dropped into a little 'o' as his breathing picked up and his sounds came more frequently. It was when Jaskier began to squirm and whine quietly from the back of his throat that Geralt pulled away and sat back on his heels between his spread legs.

And wasn't he greeted by the most beautiful sight. 

Jaskier lay there, bare-chested with his trousers open, his cock resting heavily against his belly. His face was flushed from hairline to chest, making his piercing blue eyes appear all the bluer as he met Geralt's gaze with so much heat that his own cock gave a needy twitch in the confines of his tight pants. All he could do was stare and imagine all the things he wanted to do to Jaskier, had wanted to do for a long time now if he let himself think about it.

"Geralt." The whine snapped him from his thoughts and he was immediately moving.

Shuffling on his knees, Geralt made it to the bags and dug through them. A moment later, he returned with a small corked bottle of oil. Jaskier had propped himself on his elbows in the meantime and was watching him with an impatient yet wanting expression. It made Geralt's lips curve into a grin, and when a demanding hand gripped the front of his shirt, he let himself be yanked forward. The kiss was short and when Jaskier pulled back, he nipped Geralt's lip.

"You're still wearing too much clothing," he complained, though he finally managed to untuck the shirt from his tight trousers. "I'm lying here, half-naked with my unmentionables exposed to the elements, and you've still got your damned shirt on!" Jaskier pouted.

A shiver ran through Geralt when quick hands shoved under his shirt and skimmed his flanks and around to grip his back, fingers digging into hard muscle. Without much thought, he sat back enough to finally remove the fabric, tossing it aside carelessly. And the way Jaskier positively preened, sliding his palms greedily over his chest and shoulders and arms, sent heat straight to Geralt's groin. Every inch of skin that Jaskier touched was left tingling, every scar his fingers lingered over practically burned.

"Oh, that's much better," Jaskier purred, his touch trailing lightly down Geralt's spine. "Though it would be lovely if we were on more...even ground." As he spoke, one of his hands slid slowly round the Geralt's hip and he punctuated the sentence by shamelessly groping his erection through the leather of his trousers.

Geralt let out a soft grunt, unable to keep his hips from grinding forward into Jaskier's touch. "Fuck…" he swore, dropping his head down to press his face against his bard's neck. The smell of him did little to help Geralt keep his control, however.

"Oho. A little eager are we, my dear witcher?" Jaskier had the gall to tease, going so far as to give the large bulge a squeeze and a rub. "All this just for me? I'm flattered, Geralt, truly I am. And just from kissing! I knew I was good but--" 

"Enough," Geralt growled, the grip on the little bottle he still held in his hand tightening. "Unless you prefer to spend the rest of your evening alone and unsatisfied." He began to pull away, as if he was going to get up, and smirked when Jaskier protested loudly and gripped his shoulders.

"Geralt of Riva, don't you dare," Jaskier said, trying to sound in control but coming off as a tad desperate. "I have been wanting this since I first laid eyes on you. And beside, we still have to find out who the better fuck is, haven't we?"

"We both know what the answer to that is, don't we, Jaskier?" Geralt murmured, his voice managing to be simultaneously rough and silky. He wasn't normally one to play cocky, but this game of theirs was far more fun than he had expected.

"Aren't we self-confident," Jaskier chuckled, the firelight dancing mischievously in his eyes. Biting his lip, he dropped both hands from Geralt's shoulders, down his chest and solid abdomen until he was undoing the buttons of his trousers. "The only way to know for sure is by doing."

It seemed to take ages for those clever, nimble fingers to open his fly, but Geralt stayed perfectly still for him, holding his weight easily on his elbows and knees. All the while, his hungry yellow eyes devoured every expression that crossed Jaskier's beautiful face, from the slight furrow of his brow as he concentrated, to the way his tongue darted out to dampen his lips. Every microexpression was telling and Geralt's brows came together momentarily. When, exactly, had he become fluent at reading his companion?

There was hardly more than a moment to consider it before he sucked in a sharp, surprised breath and let it out as a heady groan.

Jaskier had finally freed his erection, pulled it from the confines of the tight leather, and was stroking him almost lazily. There was a satisfied grin on his lips as he stared right back up at Geralt. He let himself enjoy the touch for just a moment, the slow, dragging friction of Jaskier's loose fist, before he reached down and took his hand away.

"Tonight is about you. And I am going to make you sing, little bird." As soft as the words were, they were also heated and held a heavy promise.

Without giving Jaskier time to argue or even speak, Geralt settled his weight down gently, pinning his bard beneath him, and kissed him hard and deep and with purpose. He savored the taste of Jaskier on his tongue, the clever fingers that threaded into his hair and the way it made his scalp tingle, the slide of their skin as Geralt shifted on his knees; and he especially savored the moan Jaskier let out when their cocks slid past one another. And soon his hips rolled fluidly against Jaskier's, dragging noises from the both of them. 

Jaskier broke the kiss with a gasp, head falling to the side as he panted, and Geralt's mouth found the soft flesh of his exposed throat. He could taste the arousal on Jaskier's skin under the salt of his sweat, sweet and heady; and without an ounce of shame, Geralt dragged the flat of his tongue from Jaskier's collarbone to the pulse point just beneath his jaw, where he took a long moment to suck a dark bruise into his delicate skin.

"Geralt," Jaskier moaned, his hand tightening into a fist in Geralt's white hair, the nails of his other hand scraping lightly down his back. "Fuck…"

With a low, pleased hum, Geralt placed a kiss to the fresh mark and left a trail of soft bites along Jaskier's jaw before he sat back on his heels. He could look at Jaskier like this all night: hair mussed, skin flushed, chest heaving, and eyes staring up at him with longing and passion. The only thing that would make the sight even more appetizing would be if Jaskier was completely naked, and that was easy enough to achieve. Geralt finally set the little bottle of oil down (it was a miracle he had managed to keep a hold of it this whole time) and slid his hands slowly down Jaskier's thighs, watched the way he swallowed hard, the way he lifted his head to follow the movement. 

It was a slow process, by design, but he began to undress Jaskier. He started with his boots, worn from years of travel and probably needing a repair or two, setting them aside and out of the way. Next were his trousers, already loose and well on their way down his slender hips. Geralt took his time, leaning down to kiss Jaskier's skin as it was exposed. Though, he paused for a moment when the pants were halfway down the Jaskier's thighs and placed a teasing kiss to the head of his cock, tongue darting out to taste the precome that was already beading.

"Oh my fucking--" Jaskier moaned, head landing on the ground with a dull thud. "The things your mouth does to me are unfair."

Geralt smirked and nipped at his hip, feeling the shiver it sent through him. Suddenly growing impatient with his own game, he sat up and stripped Jaskier's trousers off quickly, and then his stockings. They joined their quickly growing pile of clothing, and finally Jaskier was naked and sprawled out before him. Geralt had seen him undressed before, but never in this context, never intimately, and he soaked it all in like a man seeing for the first time, like Jaskier was the most beautiful piece of art. 

When Jaskier began to squirm under his gaze, Geralt reached out and touched him. His rough fingers brushed lightly down the length of Jaskier's member, drawing a quiet, needy whimper from him.

"Geralt, please," he whispered as Geralt took hold of him in a loose grip, thumbing over the head of his cock.

There was something gratifying about having a man like Jaskier beg for him, a man so adored by the Continent that there was scarcely a soul who didn't know at least one of his songs. It was humbling, really, that a man like him would even bat an eyelash in a witcher's direction when he could have anyone he wanted.

And yet there he was.

Geralt hummed. He let go of Jaskier's cock and silenced his whining complaint with a swift kiss. And when he pulled back, he was breathless, blue eyes hazy as he stared up at him. Geralt never knew he could have this sort of effect on anybody, let alone Jaskier, whose charm had just about everyone he met wrapped around his fingers.

"Stop staring and do something," Jaskier said after another beat. He looked embarrassed under Geralt's gaze, hardly meeting his golden eyes. Though he wasn't so embarrassed that it kept him from reaching down and touching himself.

Geralt watched the way his hand moved for several seconds, listened to the breathy little sounds he drew from himself. And then he reached out with a quiet growl and took hold of his slim wrist, pulling his hand away. "Oh no you don't, little bird," Geralt whispered, low and gravelly, and Jaskier whined, closing his eyes tight and biting his lip. And Geralt hummed.

Releasing his wrist, he trailed his fingers down Jaskier's throat and through the hair of his chest as he leaned closer. His lips brushed the shell of a blush-hot ear and he whispered, "I'm going to prove to you who is better now, my dear bard."

The sound of the little bottle being uncorked had Jaskier moaning in anticipation, legs spreading just a little bit wider, and Geralt worked quickly to slick his fingers with the oil. And then his hand disappeared between Jaskier's thighs so he could prod gently at his entrance. The touch had him trembling in moments, lips parted as he exhaled a soft 'oh.' Jaskier's eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks when Geralt added more pressure, and he couldn't help watching the way it caused shadows to flicker across his skin.

He finally pressed the finger into Jaskier, noticed the way he tensed for just a moment before he sighed and pressed his hips down for more.

"Okay?" Geralt rumbled, smoothing his free hand under the dip of Jaskier's ribs, lips curving into a small smile at the way it made his cock twitch ever so faintly.

"So much better than okay." Jaskier's voice was breathy and he looked immensely pleased with the situation, about the fact that the witcher Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf was currently fingering him.

It made Geralt snort quietly and lean down to kiss his reddened lips. As he began to move the thick finger inside Jaskier, he trailed his mouth down, over the light stubble of his jaw, smelling the arousal that rolled off them both in thick waves, mingling around them in a sweet, musky cloud of desire. Geralt stayed like that, nosing along the soft underside of his jaw as he opened him slowly, until Jaskier grew impatient with need and began to paw at his broad shoulders, blunt nails scraping over his skin.

"Geralt." Jaskier gasped his name the way a drowning man gasped for air. "For the love of--I need _more._ "

The witcher made a low sound and dragged his mouth over his bard’s adam’s apple, tongue dipping into the hollow of his throat. After a moment, he sat up just enough to reach for the little bottle of oil, and Jaskier whined impatiently, rolling his hips against Geralt’s hand when he didn’t immediately get what he wanted.

“Hold on,” Geralt huffed, slipping his finger out of Jaskier to add more of the oil. 

“I have been patient with you for years, Geralt. _Years._ Please, just hurry--oh!” Jaskier’s rambling demands broke off into a moan when one finger pressed back into him, followed by another. 

“A few more minutes of waiting won’t kill you, Jaskier,” Geralt murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw and curling his fingers inside him. “As I said, all good things in time.” 

Geralt revelled in the sight of Jaskier as he began to fuck him slowly with those thick digets. His blue eyes rolled back and closed, and a light sweat had broken out across his forehead, strands of burnet hair stuck to his skin. Geralt’s gaze traveled hungrily from his face, down his throat to his chest, rising and falling heavily with each pull of breath, and he leaned down. Sharp teeth caught a flushed pink nipple and Geralt was rewarded with a wanton moan and a strong hand pulling his hair as he sucked and nipped at it.

Spreading and scissoring his fingers, Geralt worked his bard open slowly, moving his mouth to the other nipple as he did. Jaskier positively writhed beneath him, pulling his white hair but also pressing his head down to his chest whenever he eased up. It wasn’t long before Geralt carefully added a third finger, listening to the gasp and babble of noises it drew from Jaskier. His back arched off the blanket and both of his hands landed firmly on Geralt’s shoulders, nails biting into his skin. 

“Oh fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier gasped, wrapping his arm around Geralt’s neck when he moved back up to kiss along his throat. “Should have--should have known you’d be good with your hands, the way you handle your sword--ah!”

The small cry and the way his body jolted when he curled his fingers told Geralt that he had finally found the spot inside Jaskier that made him sing. He didn’t let up now that he had found it, and he shifted to sit on his heels so that he could wrap his other hand around Jaskier’s neglected cock, and Jaskier's arms dropping from round his broad shoulders so that his hands clutched the thick woolen blanket beneath them. The sight of Jaskier falling apart like this, because of him, sent a wave of desire through Geralt, his usually slow heart beating faster and his breathing coming harder. 

“I wish you could see yourself, Jaskier,” he panted, gathering the precome at the head of Jaskier’s cock with his thumb before he began to stroke him in time with the pumping of his fingers. “You look so fucked out and we’ve hardly just begun.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier whimpered, trembling and tilting his head back with a gasp. “Geralt, please. _Please._ ”

Geralt’s resolve finally broke as Jaskier pleaded for him, and he withdrew his fingers and reached once more for the oil. There was just enough and he poured what remained into his palm, not caring that it dripped down his wrist as he tossed the empty bottle away. He didn’t even bother with his trousers, simply gripped his cock and pumped himself a few times. He groaned at the slick sensation, eyes closing for a moment as he let himself enjoy it. 

An impatient huff and a foot nudging his hip drew a quiet laugh from deep in Geralt’s chest. Opening his eyes, he took hold of Jaskier’s ankle and gave him a devilish grin, a grin that was returned without hesitation. His hand slid along Jaskier’s calf until he gripped behind his knee and pushed his leg up so that Jaskier was practically bent in half as Geralt leaned over him. Like this, one leg over his shoulder, the other one coming to wrap loosely around his waist, heel resting against his lower back, the head of Geralt’s member nudged against Jaskier’s hole. 

“I want you to fuck me now, witcher,” Jaskier whispered against his mouth, breathless and excited. “Prove to me that you’re better.” Geralt could hear the unspoken challenge: _Not just better than her, better than anyone I’ve ever had._ And it made him growl, a low, possessive sound.

“I intend to, bard,” he rumbled, slowly pressing forward, feeling the resistance of Jaskier’s body for just a moment before it gave in. 

When his cockhead pushed inside, they both moaned, Jaskier tossing his head back with his mouth dropped open and Geralt pressing his face against his exposed throat. They both remained still for several beats, breathing hard, but then Jaskier pressed his heel into his back and Geralt took the hint. Slowly, he began to push deeper into the other man, inch by inch until finally, _finally_ he was seated completely within him. He lifted his head from Jaskier’s throat to rest their foreheads together, eyes closed. 

Geralt wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that before Jaskier patted him on the flank and whispered, “Move,” but he certainly didn’t need to be told twice. 

With a slow, shallow roll of his hips, he gauged Jaskier’s reaction, hearing nothing but pleasure in the quiet groan that left him. So, shallow roll after shallow roll built up into an easy, steady pace, and Geralt opened his eyes to watch Jaskier as he moved. He watched the way his lips parted around each breath, each soft moan, the way his eyes fluttered, the way he glowed in the dying firelight. And as perfect and beautiful as he was like this, Geralt wanted to see him fall apart.

So, with little more than a shift of his knees as warning, he pulled out of Jaskier nearly all the way before he snapped his hips forward in a rough thrust. The cry it dragged from Jaskier was music to his ears, and as he started a new pace, Jaskier clung to him, one hand gripping desperately at Geralt’s thigh, fingers pressing hard into leather, and the other at his back. A soft hiss left him when fingernails bit into his skin, but Geralt wouldn't have it any other way; not when Jaskier's face contorted with pleasure and each hard thrust dragged loud moans and cries from him.

Jaskier was babbling, curses and praises alike falling from his lips as Geralt fucked him roughly. Even in this state he couldn’t keep words from his lips and Geralt caught them in a fast, desperate kiss. He swallowed down every obscene sound Jaskier gave him until they both had to part for breath. 

“How do you fill me so perfectly?” he panted, eyes falling closed, head lolling to the side, and Geralt could only grunt in response.

He could feel his orgasm beginning to build up, and his hand snuck between them. Geralt took hold of Jaskier’s cock, wringing a strangled moan from him as his back arched and his fingers dug into the witcher's back and thigh.

“Geralt, please!” Jaskier all but sobbed out, nails raking down Geralt’s back. “I’m--”

“I’ve got you, Jaskier,” Geralt said, voice rough, his pace was beginning to falter and he did his best to jerk Jaskier with some kind of rhythm.

The sight of Jaskier's face as he fell apart was among his favorites, Geralt decided; his hair was mussed and stuck to his forehead, his skin was flushed, his mouth was dropped open around every delicious sound he made. And with one last pass of his thumb over his cockhead, one more rough thrust, one more murmur of reassurance, Jaskier came with a long drawn out moan, back arched, legs stiff and trembling, toes no doubt curling. He spilled onto his own belly and Geralt’s hand, and he did his best to draw it out for him even as he chased after his own release. After three or four more hard, deep thrusts, Geralt came as well, stifling his moan against Jaskier’s neck as his hips gave a last few shallow bucks. 

When they fell still, they were both panting, holding on to one another as small aftershocks of pleasure rolled over them. But all too soon the time came for Geralt to slowly, carefully, pull out and let Jaskier’s leg down from his shoulder. The movement made Jaskier groan quietly and Geralt dropped a soft kiss to his shoulder before he moved off of him and settled on his side to watch him in the glowing light of the embers. His hand rested on Jaskier's chest, wanting to stay connected to him somehow. The quiet that blanketed them was comfortable, and soon Jaskier’s breathing was back to normal and he turned his head to look at Geralt. 

“That was… Well, that was very good, but--”

Geralt glowered at him. 

“Okay! Okay! You’re definitely better,” Jaskier laughed, rolling over to kiss him, fingers sliding along his jaw and into his messy silver hair. 

Geralt wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, ignoring the way Jaskier’s seed smeared against his skin. “I told you,” he murmured against Jaskier’s mouth.

“So you did,” Jaskier mused, kissing him again. And then he blinked, hand pausing where it was skimming over Geralt’s thigh. “Are you still wearing your trousers?”

Geralt just shrugged, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter when Jaskier smacked his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Eeeeeyyyyyy. Who wants a part two where Jaskier tops and shows Geralt a good time! Because that's happening. 
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed this. Comments are always welcome!


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